


Nocturne in C Minor

by voxanonymi (spasmodicIntrigue)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Childhood, Fluff and Angst, Gen, takes place partially during chapter 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23733859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasmodicIntrigue/pseuds/voxanonymi
Summary: Noctis missed those days. How simple they had been, even if, at the time, mastering this particular nocturne had seemed like the hardest thing he had ever done… and he never did master it fully. “What was that other piece called? The one you used to play for me.”Ignis’ smile turned soft, knowing exactly what Noctis was referring to, even with such sparse detail. “Sonata for Noctis.”While wandering the Leville in Altissia, Noctis stumbles across a dusty grand piano. Far from home, he remembers simpler times—times when he and Ignis sat side-by-side on a velvet-upholstered piano bench.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36





	Nocturne in C Minor

**Author's Note:**

> RE: the "nocturne" referred to by the title, there is actually a [Chopin nocturne in C minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7mntyrW3HU), which happens to be one of my favourites, but I don't think they had Chopin in Eos so in this fic, "Nocturne in C Minor" refers to the [piano collections arrangement of Somnus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6cn_FYoA5-0), because I thought it was fitting. And you can probably guess, but "Sonata for Noctis" is of course Noctis' theme, but _not_ the piano collections version. [This version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuEBOpwAh_U%22) works better for the purposes of this fic.
> 
> Anyway, this was very self-indulgent for me lmao. The marriage of three of my favourite hobbies: fic writing, piano, and video games. Hope you enjoy it! :D

**Before—**

_—The Day Before_

_{ andante }_

Similar to how the Three Z’s Motels across Lucis were all practically identical, Noctis had (mistakenly) assumed that the Leville in Altissia wouldn’t be so different from the one in Lestallum. Altissia’s Leville, however, was at least twice as large as Lestallum’s, and three times as grandiose. High ceilings, marble columns, gilded railings, and plush carpets. _Porters_ to carry their luggage, not that they had much. There was even a Royal Suite. For royals.

Though, to be honest, it was a bit much for Noctis. He’d never been big on extravagance, having been subjected to ample amounts of it growing up in the Citadel. He’d tolerated it like any of his royal obligations, and been more than happy to trade it in for the the modesty of his penthouse apartment in his teenage years.

Well, okay, a penthouse wasn’t exactly modest. Sue him, he hadn’t _asked_ to be born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He preferred stainless steel, anyway.

He wondered what the cutlery in the Altissia Leville was made from. He’d find out tonight if he paid enough attention at dinner in the hotel banquet hall, by invitation from the First Secretary herself. It was less a social affair than a political, strategic one. Finalising plans; ensuring that each party was still committed to holding up their end of the bargain during tomorrow’s summoning ritual.

They had some downtime before then. Prompto suggested they go to Totomostro again, but Noctis, feeling a little put-off by the idea, decided to stay behind and take a nap.

Even in his sleep he couldn’t stop envisioning all the things that might go wrong tomorrow. Mostly, he was afraid that he wasn’t strong enough to subdue Leviathan, and that people would die because of it. Because of him.

After he jolted awake for the third time, he gave up on napping. Restless, his friends yet to return, he decided to distract himself by exploring the hotel—see what other secrets the carpeted hallways might be hiding.

He found: more hallways! Plus a lot of stairs and a couple of elevators. He narrowly avoided colliding with a cleaner who struggled to navigate behind the tall stack of towels in her arms, who apologised profusely in a thick Altissian accent as she shuffled past.

It was right when Noctis gave up on finding anything interesting and decided to head back to their suite that he found a small concert hall, through a heavy door which he was sure had led to a stairwell the last time he came down this corridor.

The stage was barely knee-high, upon it was a three-legged stool, an empty microphone stand, and a grand piano, so large compared to the stage that the far end of its long body protruded into the wings.

Noctis had to wonder what this room was used for. Most of it was dedicated to audience space, though at the moment the padded chairs were stacked along the walls, so it could as easily be a small ballroom. A very small ballroom.

Regardless, it was more interesting than a stairwell.

He climbed up onto the stage and approached the piano, footsteps crisp on the hollow platform. The piano was jet black, lid and key cover closed, a fine layer of dust over the smooth lacquer. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the one back at the Citadel—though that piano had never been allowed to gather dust. He wondered what had become of it. Noctis had learned to play, once upon a time, under the tutelage of a severe woman named Madame Treble. In hindsight, Noctis realised that “Madame Treble” probably wasn’t her real name.

It was customary for young royals to learn to play an instrument. His father had once learned the cello, though Noctis had only heard him play once or twice, years and years ago. Besides being a hallmark of culture or whatever, playing music was a valuable skill to have under one’s belt, for the improvement of memory and coordination or something. The meeting of mind and soul, the ultimate expression of technical skill married with artistic expression… Madame Treble had insisted on delivering the same long-winded speech at the beginning of every lesson. Noctis had insisted on tuning it out, but like water lapping against a rock, it had left its indelible mark in his memory—eventually.

Ignis, star pupil that he was, probably remembered every word. He had a better head for the piano, anyway. Better hands, too. The only reason Noctis had chosen piano was because it was what Ignis was learning, and he wanted to take lessons together.

It felt like forever since he’d played. Those warm afternoons in the music room, squinting at sheet music, or sprawled across the chaise as Ignis showed off a new piece he’d learned that he thought Noctis would like. They seemed so long ago. He’d considered getting an upright or even digital piano for his apartment a couple times, but never gotten around to it.

The vinyl bench squeaked as he sat down, as did the hinges of the key cover as he lifted it. The cover had done its job well—the keys beneath were pristine, not a speck of dust, pure white and pure black in classic contrast.

Sheepishly, he glanced around the empty room. He was definitely alone, and the weight of the door had suggested some level of soundproofing.

Turning back to the piano, the fifth finger of his left hand found middle C. It rang out, clear and rich and not as obnoxiously loud as Noctis had expected. With the same hand, he found G, then the next octave’s C—then his right hand joined; E-flat, G, C. Haltingly, tentatively, he began to play, calling on years-old muscle memory to see him through the first few measures.

After the third horrendously wrong note, he stopped, letting out a harsh sigh. His wrist was already starting to ache. He was holding it too stiffly, as always.

“ _Nocturne in C Minor_ ,” said a voice by the door, making Noctis jump so hard he nearly fell off the bench. “I haven’t heard that piece in years.”

It was only Ignis, of course, who had some sort of supernatural ability to seek out Noctis, wherever, whenever.

“Way to give me a heart attack,” Noctis complained.

Ignis smiled. “Sorry. I heard the piano from down the hall and came to investigate.”

Not so soundproof, then. “You couldn’t have known it was me.”

“Oh, Noct. I’d recognise your playing anywhere—especially given your choice of piece.”

“I guess _you_ probably remember it better.”

During their back-and-forth, Ignis had stepped up onto the stage, and now Noctis moved over on the bench so that he could sit down.

“Might do.”

After taking a moment to flex his hands, Ignis began to play. Even out of practice, with next to no warm-up, he played with greater ease and flow than even a well-rehearsed Noctis had ever managed. His long fingers fluttered across the keys, managing to play precisely while still capturing the feeling of the piece. Storm-like crescendos, whisper-soft pianissimo, fluctuations in tempo building tension like a bubble on the verge of bursting.

Noctis had always found he could only ever do one at a time: either he could play accurately at the expense of any expression or subtlety, or pump his playing full of angst and flub a handful of notes in his passionate furor.

About a minute in, Ignis’ left thumb slipped from an E-flat to an E-natural. He paused, discordant notes ringing, hands hovering.

That was Ignis’ weakness. He was no good at recovering from errors.

“Well, that didn’t sound very good,” said Noctis.

Ignis gave him a sidelong look. “It’s been a long time, Noct.”

“You were doing pretty well up until then.”

“You are, as ever, generous with your praise.”

Noctis laughed and nudged Ignis with his shoulder. “Hey, do you remember Madame Treble? Remember what she would say any time either of us made it through a piece without making a mistake?”

“Something to the tune of— _'I suppose that was praise-worthy,'_ followed by a thorough deconstruction of everything we did wrong.” He paused, shaking his head thoughtfully. “And there was always something, whether it was pedalling or pacing or playing a section as _fortissimo_ when the score called for _forte_. A hard taskmaster, that woman.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Noctis missed those days. How simple they had been, even if, at the time, mastering this particular nocturne had seemed like the hardest thing he had ever done… and he never did master it fully. “What was that other piece called? The one you used to play for me.”

Ignis’ smile turned soft, knowing exactly what Noctis was referring to, even with such sparse detail. “ _Sonata for Noctis_.”

“That’s the one. Play it.”

He chuckled. “As you wish.”

Gently, he put hands to keys and began to play once again.

_—Six Years Before_

_{ agitato }_

Yet again, Noctis’ left hand somehow hit entirely the wrong set of notes, punching another discordant hole into an error-riddled run-through.

“Argh!” Losing his patience, he brought a closed fist down onto the keys, making them jangle horribly.

“Noct!” Ignis admonished. “There’s no need for that.”

“Why can’t I get it right?” Noctis demanded. He wasn’t sure if he was asking Ignis or himself or the piano or the freaking Crystal. “I’ve been learning this song for a month and I still can’t play it right. I hate it!”

“Calm down,” Ignis said smoothly. He didn’t even correct Noctis for saying “song” instead of “piece.” He touched Noctis’ shoulder to ask him to move over, then sat beside him on the double-wide, velvet-upholstered bench.

The music room was on an upper level of the Citadel, massive windows west-facing, catching the long, angular rays of the late-afternoon sun. The grand piano, pure black and so perfectly polished that he could see his reflection in it, had once seemed impossibly large and magnificent to Noctis. Now it was impossibly annoying.

“You’re trying to play too fast before both hands are ready,” Ignis continued. “Your right hand has no trouble, but your left hand struggles to keep up—which is when you start to panic, and hit the wrong keys. You just need to play it at a lower tempo until you can do that without making mistakes, then play it faster bit by bit.”

“That’ll only take forever,” Noctis grumbled. “I just can’t play this damn song!”

“ _Piece_ , Noct. It’s a piece, not a song.” Ah. There it was. Ignis pushed up his glasses, examining the array of disorganised music sheets before them. “ _Nocturne in C Minor_. Noct, you’ve wanted to play this ever since you first heard it. You were over the moon when Madame Treble finally agreed that you were ready.”

Noctis huffed and got up, letting Ignis have the bench—and the piano. “Well, I guess she was wrong.” He flopped sideways onto the nearby chaise. “I just liked that the name sounds kinda like my name.”

“Nocturne. A piece inspired by or evocative of the night,” Ignis recited.

“Yeah. That.” Noctis twisted around to peer over the back of the chaise, through the wide, clear windows, at the darkening sky. “You play it way better than I’ll ever be able to.”

Ignis let out an unhappy noise which wasn’t quite a sigh. “I only learned it because it reminded me of you.”

Noctis turned to look at him again. “Play.”

“Not yet.” A smile crept onto Ignis’ face. “I want you to try it one more time. _Then_ I’ll play. Here.” He reached for the metronome on top of the piano, setting it to a tempo much slower than what Noctis had been following in his head, but thankfully not so slow as the tempos Madame Treble tortured him with. “This will help.”

Heaving a sigh, Noctis pulled himself from the chaise and returned to Ignis’ side on the piano bench.

“Don’t concern yourself with phrasing or dynamics or any of that,” Ignis advised. “Just focus on the notes. But don’t overthink it, or you’ll make yourself flustered.”

Noctis scowled. “Do you want me to think, or not?”

Ignis chuckled. “A bit of both. Focus, but trust your fingers—your muscle memory. Like you said, you’ve been learning this piece for a month. Your hands probably know it better than you think. Oh, and…” He gathered up the sheet music and tossed it backwards over their heads. “I’m sure you don’t need this.”

The pages rustled like wings as they broke away from each other and fluttered to the floor.

“Madame Treble would not approve,” said Noctis.

“Madame Treble would also not approve of your posture,” Ignis reminded him.

Giving him a dour look, Noctis straightened his spine as much as he could. “Better?”

“Much. Now, whenever you’re ready.”

Noctis has the feeling that Ignis was enjoying this far too much. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and positioned his hands over the keys, listening to the metronome, waiting for his cue. Then, he began to play.

_—Twelve Years Before_

_{ sotto voce }_

“Are you sure you don’t want to play, Noct?” Ignis asked again, twisting around on the bench.

Noctis shook his head and shrunk even further down on the chaise. “Wrist hurts,” he mumbled.

Ignis didn’t even try to hide the distress on his face. “Oh. Alright,” he said. “Well… do you want to do something else? If it’s really bothering you, I can take you to—”

“No,” said Noctis. He didn’t say it very loudly. In fact, often these days he felt like he’d entirely lost the ability to speak any louder than an undertone. But the tiny word stopped Ignis in his tracks like licked fingers pinching out a candle flame. Noctis could almost hear the faint _tss_.

He heard Ignis swallow. Then heard the bench squeak. Then heard the thread of desperation in Ignis’ voice in only three words: “Then _what_ , Noct?”

Here it came again. That sour feeling. The one Noctis had become increasingly acquainted with ever since the attack. Ever since Tenebrae.

They told him it was guilt. They told him he had no reason to feel guilty.

He did anyway.

Noctis shrugged. He really just wanted to go to bed, but it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, and he was already making Ignis feel bad. He could hear it in his friend’s voice—the fear. The fear that crept in almost every day since Noctis had come back to the Citadel, and it made him so _angry_ sometimes, because what did Ignis have to be afraid of? _Him?_ Couldn’t he tell that Noctis just wanted to forget about what happened? Go back to normal?

But then every time he got angry, he got guilty again. None of this was Ignis’ fault. If Noctis were him, he’d have asked if he could be released from service already.

“Madame Treble told me you wrote something,” he said to his knees, watching Ignis from the corner of his eye, “while I was… away.”

Ignis stared, surprised, then pushed up his glasses. “Yes. I did.”

“What’s it called?”

“Well, it’s… not really finished yet, but the working title is, er… _Sonata for Noctis_.” He pushed up his glasses again, even though they had nowhere further to go.

“Play it.”

“It’s not—” He stopped. Took a breath, then nodded, and turned to face the keyboard. “Alright, Noct.”

Tentatively, then earnestly, Ignis began to play. A simple, lilting, wistful, _hopeful_ melody. And, if a few tears swelled in Noctis’ eyes as the music spilled from the piano, he hoped Ignis would be too busy playing to notice.

_—Fourteen Years Before_

_{ armonioso }_

“That’s an A, not an F,” Madame Treble sighed, in her weary way. “Please, your Highness, pay attention.”

Noctis pouted, glancing over his shoulder at Ignis, perched politely on the chaise. He offered Noctis an encouraging smile.

“Don’t look at him, look at the music,” scolded Madame Treble. “Now, Prince Noctis, tell me, please—what note is this?” She pointed to one of the little black golf clubs on the bottom set of lines.

“Um,” said Noctis, “it’s a… G?”

“No, your Highness. If this were on a treble clef, then yes, that would be a G. But this is the _bass_ clef, which makes it a…?”

Surreptitiously, Noctis once again peered over at Ignis—who helpfully mouthed the answer.

“B!” said Noctis.

Madame Treble whipped around to fix Ignis with a stern look. “I’ve half a mind to demand to teach you separately,” she said.

“No!” Noctis protested. “Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry, Madame Treble,” said Ignis, looking suitably chastised. “I just wanted to help.”

“As if that’s news to me,” said the Madame. She heaved a sigh. “Right. Let’s just go back to this first section, then. Prince Noctis, are you ready to try playing with both hands at once?”

“No,” Noctis sulked. “My hands don’t like doing different things at the same time. It’s too hard.”

“There is, of course, a learning curve, but with practice you _will_ get better,” Madame Treble insisted. “I did it when I was your age. Ignis did it.”

“It’s still difficult, though,” Ignis chimed in. “Some songs more than others.”

“Some _pieces_ more than others,” Madame Treble corrected. “You’re absolutely right, however—a complicated cross-rhythm or polyrhythm, especially at a high tempo, can prove challenging even for an otherwise capable, experienced pianist.”

Noctis tilted his head. “Polly… rhythm?”

“Something that I find helpful,” Madame Treble continued, “is to not think of your hands as two separate things. In reality, they are two small parts of the same whole. The music comes not from the hands, but from the person to whom they belong.”

“From me?”

“Precisely. Perhaps the right hand plays the melody whilst the left hand plays the accompaniment, but it is only once they come together in complete harmony—quite literally—that the piece, the music, may truly take flight.”

Ticking this over in his head, Noctis stared at his hands. They were barely big enough to span six keys, and while he felt fairly confident about his right hand, his left hand wasn’t good at much. He’d tried writing left-handed once, not too long ago, and it had been _so_ hard. It was strange to think of his two hands as one thing. Like some sort of weird, conjoined, mutant hand?

“Or, if you prefer, you might think of it as teamwork,” said Madame Treble, perhaps sensing Noctis’ turmoil. “Your hands must work together on the same project, rather than working separately on separate tasks.”

Aha! Now _this_ was an analogy Noctis could understand. “Like when Ignis helps me with reading music!” he suggested, grinning.

Madame Treble’s brows furrowed low over her eyes. She sighed through her nose. “I suppose so,” she conceded.

Noctis grinned over at Ignis, who hid a giggle behind his hand.

The Madame clicked her long, brown fingers—like twigs from an autumn tree, Noctis always thought, though Ignis insisted he never say so in her presence.

“That’s enough talking,” she said. “Your Highness? From the beginning, if you please.”

“You can do it, Noct,” Ignis whispered.

Noctis nodded. “I can do it,” he repeated to himself, positioning his hands over the keys (right thumb on middle C) and taking a deep breath.

**After—**

_—Two Weeks After_

_{ dissonante }_

The sun was soon to set.

The thought occurred numbly to Noctis as he stared through the gilded window. The sun was beating a hasty retreat from the sky, all too eager to hide itself behind the rocky landforms surrounding the alcove of Altissia. How easy it would be, Noctis thought, to be the sun. To drift lazily through endless blue, day after day, uncaring of and unaffected by whatever the hell happened on whatever dumb rocks fell into its orbit.

He sat up, suddenly restless, blinking rapidly to clear the negative-colour image of the sun printed on his retinas. Then he wondered. If he were merely to lie here, staring into the sun as it sailed carelessly by day by day, would he, too, go blind?

Would it not be poetic justice?

He had the greatest urge to be anywhere but here—anywhere but this room, this farcical “Royal Suite.”

Prompto and Gladio were sat around the coffee table on the other side of the room, playing the world’s quietest game of cards. Noctis hadn’t even known they were there.

“Where’s Ignis?” he demanded, though it came out as little more than a pathetic croak.

Even so, Prompto practically jumped out of his skin and dropped his hand of cards.

Gladio just shot him a scowl. “Oh, so you suddenly care?”

“Of course I care,” Noctis bit back. “Where are my shoes?”

“Oh—over here,” said Prompto, leaping up to dash over to the wardrobe. “Ignis said he wanted to walk around the hotel a bit, to, uh, to get used to the cane.”

“And you let him go on his own?” Noctis accused, snatching his shoes as Prompto handed them to him.

“I—I offered to go with him! He insisted on going alone…”

“Right.” Noctis busied himself with tying his laces, a sour knot coiling itself into being in the pit of his stomach. “I… sorry, Prompto.”

Prompto sighed. “Hey, no worries.” He hovered by the bed as Noctis finished putting his shoes on. “You… wanna go somewhere? Maybe get something to eat?”

“I just need some air.” Steeling himself, Noctis stood, and though the whooshing in his head and the dark stains dancing across his vision weren’t as bad as they were last week, he still pinched his eyes shut and pressed a clammy hand against his forehead, centering himself.

“Easy there,” said Prompto. “Just take it slow. I’ll come with you.”

“No,” said Noctis. “Sorry. I just… No, thank you. I want to be alone.”

He opened his eyes to Prompto’s pale face, nodding uncertainly.

“What a show,” Gladio grunted in the background.

Noctis’ jaw tensed. But he didn’t have the energy for arguments, so he ignored the jab and, head throbbing already, left the room.

Not that he really had a specific destination in mind. Maybe he would wander down to the docks for a much-needed change of goddamn scene. Sure, if he wanted air, the Royal Suite had a balcony. But it was impossible to relax when he could feel Gladio shooting him glares every two minutes, or muttering some barbed quip. What was his problem? It wasn’t like Noctis had asked for this. It wasn’t like he’d wanted to be bedridden for the past couple of weeks. It wasn’t like he’d blinded Ignis himself.

Even if it was probably his fault anyway.

As he reached the end of the corridor, he heard voices approaching from around the corner. His head throbbed, his heart stuttered, and his mouth went dry.

Of course. The only problem with going outside—going anywhere that wasn’t another corner of their hotel room—was the inevitability of encountering people. Strangers. Displaced citizens who couldn’t return to their homes on the northern side of the city, and were temporarily being put up in the Leville.

As the voices drew closer, Noctis turned on his heel and walked as quickly as his aching legs would take him in the opposite direction.

It was then that he remembered that little concert hall, the one he’d found the day before the ritual—the day before everything had gone to shit. The room with the piano, the piano that reminded him of home.

He might not find fresh air there, but perhaps he would find some peace.

When at last he remembered the way, the room was already occupied. Seated at the piano, posture perfect as always, was Ignis. His new cane was propped up against the side of the piano. He wasn’t playing—just sitting there, hands ghosting across the keys.

Hearing the door open, he turned slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If this room is needed, I can leave.”

Noctis stared, confused. Then like a punch to the gut, he remembered.

“It’s me,” he said quietly, climbing up onto the stage.

“Noct,” said Ignis, voice immediately softening. “Are you well enough to be up and about?”

“Fine,” Noctis said, even though his head was heavy and his entire body buzzed with a half-felt ache. “What are you doing here?”

Ignis frowned, probably suspicious about the clumsy change of topic. He decided to let it slide. “Well, at first I simply wanted to see if I could find my way here. It was… challenging, I must admit. I wasn’t sure I had the right room until I walked into the edge of the stage.”

Noctis swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. “Don’t push yourself too hard,” he muttered.

“It’s nothing insurmountable,” Ignis assured him. “Just a bruised shin.”

“Right.”

“I suppose, I… also wanted to see if my hands still know their way around a piano without eyes to aid them.”

“Right,” Noctis repeated. “Well… do they?”

Ignis pressed down a key with the index finger of his left hand. The solitary note rang out, then faded away.

“That wasn’t an E, was it?” he asked.

Noctis shook his head. Then wanted to kick himself. “No,” he said quietly, crossing the stage and perching on the piano bench beside Ignis. “Here.” Gently, he took Ignis’ hand and moved it down a few keys, to the E he’d been searching for.

Ignis smiled. “Thank you, Noct.” He pressed the E key, and nodded, brushing his fingers over the keys around it. “Right, of course,” he muttered to himself. “I could easily have figured that out, but I suppose I was hoping that muscle memory would prevail.”

His tone was so light. How could his tone be so _light?_

“It doesn’t matter,” Noctis mumbled. “It’s just an instrument.”

“Now, now,” Ignis said patiently. “You should never underestimate the power of music. Or the benefit of playing it. For the soul, if not for the mind or body.” Finding the right keys, he played a single broken chord with his left hand. The opening notes of his Sonata. The one he’d written for Noctis. A-flat to E-flat, up to the next A-flat, back to E-flat, up to B-flat. “Besides, I have to start somewhere. Adjustment is a process, I’m told.”

“Right,” Noctis said quickly. “Right. Of course. I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s alright, Noct.”

But it wasn’t alright. None of this was alright. From where Noctis was sitting, this whole mess was pretty fucking _un_ alright.

A familiar feeling was slowly overtaking him, the feeling that he just wanted it all to stop. That there had to be some way in which none of this was real, that this was just some horrible, horrible, _horrible_ nightmare he was trapped in. That at any minute he would wake up, _finally_ wake up, and everything would be fine. Luna wouldn’t be dead, and Gladio wouldn’t be angry at him, and Ignis wouldn’t be blind and they could play the piano together and—

He didn’t realise he was clenching his fists, breath shallow and erratic, until Ignis’ cool fingers touched his knuckles.

“It’s alright,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

Noctis took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “How about—” He swallowed again. “How about I play you something?”

Ignis smiled. With so much turmoil sloshing violently in Noctis’ head, he couldn’t tell if that smile was warm or sad. A bit of both, or neither.

“I’d like that very much.” Ignis shuffled over slightly to give Noctis more room on the bench.

And even though his hands were shaking, Noctis began to play.

**Author's Note:**

> me: I will write a nice fluffy fic of noct and iggy playing the piano together :)  
> demon brain: and there will be angst :)
> 
> So yeah I wrote the first draft of this back in like... July? August? I'd meant to get it done for Ignoct week, but that didn't happen, then I got eaten by a massive original project for several months until I finally finished the first draft of the first installment and decided to go back and clean this up & post it. ^_^;
> 
> My tumblr is [here](https://voxanonymi.tumblr.com/) if you're interested in updates of any kind, or in the possibility of me ever posting original stuff in some form? Maybe?? I have many thoughts and ideas. I've also been meaning to start uploading videos of me playing the piano but I am shy and this is why I never get anything done. 
> 
> I hope quarantine is treating you all well and that you take care of yourselves. These are strange fucking times, friends. <3


End file.
